


Fuyu Kodachi (冬木立)

by insightful_username



Series: Fluttering Leaves [3]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jackson's dad's there for a bit, M/M, Minor Character Death, References to Depression, also a kind of, i dont actually know though, kind of, mostly just mark and jackson, really minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 08:25:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insightful_username/pseuds/insightful_username
Summary: Jackson broke the silence, his cheeks still flushed. Jackson looked directly into Mark’s eyes, “I— Look, I have nothing to lose—”“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Mark bit the inside of his cheeks, “Plus we’re still at least a little tipsy.”“No, Mark. If I don’t say anything, I’ll never get it out of me,” the alcohol made Jackson surprisingly maudlin, especially after he recalled the last time the younger male had gotten drunk. Then, like someone ripping off a bandaid as swiftly as they could, he blurted out his words, “I really fucking like you.”Before Mark even processed the weight of the words, Jackson’s lips were on his.





	Fuyu Kodachi (冬木立)

**Author's Note:**

> ive gotten to the state where i initially think my writing isnt shit. then after i look back at it, some of the sentences look like they were written by primary school students. but eyy, ill try to fix it after i finish this stupid tree-tetralogy-that's-barely-about-trees-anymore tetralogy, which really shouldnt have been an anthology at all.

Jackson was sitting so still that Mark would’ve thought the man was a statue if not for Jackson’s shirt, which was fluttering about in the breeze.

 

Mark carefully walked closer to Jackson. The Hong Kong native’s posture held an unmovable stillness, his loose shirt rustling with the wind. Mark sucked in a deep breath, shaking off the dread that snaked its way up his esophagus from his stomach, turning attention directly to Jackson. 

 

He lifted his head for what felt to be the first time in forever and met Jackson’s sad eyes. He hoped he hadn’t winced visibly, and began speaking.

 

“Can I join you here?” Mark had approached from Jackson’s right, inching closer until he was just three feet from the younger.

 

Mark had nothing more to say after stalking up to Jackson’s spot, and Jackson hadn’t either. He still sitting on the handrails while Mark stood idly on the sidewalk. A thick smog of tension had begun to spread around them, making it difficult for Mark to breathe. 

 

“I’m not mad anymore,” Mark snapped his head up, almost confusing himself from the whiplash, “I was never really mad, y’know. I’m sorry, Mark.”

 

Jackson shifted his weight on the wide siding. It broke Mark from his stupor, as if the cold wind that was getting close to drying his eyes completely. “Jack— I was worried about you.”

 

Jackson’s lips were pressed in a tight line. It created harsh indents on his otherwise creamy and smooth face. It caused an astringent taste forming at the back of Mark’s throat. The American swallowed, the growing pit in his stomach made him more and more nauseous. When the wind picked up, Mark felt the straw on the camel’s back snap into pieces, “Can you  _ please _ get down from there?” A moment of rest, like a pause in a piece of music that drawled on for just a bit too long, and Jackson hopped off.

 

Another gust of wind made Mark realize the situation. In what Mark hoped to be in Jackson’s worrisome state, he recalled the lack of layers on his friend, “It’s cold out, Jack. You should go home. Your friends, they’re worried about you.”

 

Jackson shifted, the sound of his shirt moving with his body being made abundantly clear with the sudden halt of the breeze. His countenance held a deeply concentrated expression, as if he’d be flagellated for saying more than he should. The stagnant air had not yet picked up wind when Jackson spoke again, “Can I please come over to your house instead?”

 

The query took Mark by surprise. It made Mark painfully aware of the state his apartment was in, yet the desperate plea made Mark melt. He complied with a, “Sure, let’s go.”

  
  


They moved at a brisk pace to the sinfully dull, brown building that felt miles shorter than other buildings in the area. 

 

After what felt like hours, but lasted no longer than fifteen minutes, they’d arrived at Mark’s apartment. Mark’s left hand was interlocked with Jackson’s own like star-crossed lovers as he led Jackson inside.

 

“Here, why don’t you take a quick shower? It’s cold as hell.” When Mark has begun to melt in the nearly visible heat difference between his apartment and the oddly cold lobby, he finally noticed his and Jackson’s interlaced fingers. He felt his face flush, and he let go.

 

Jackson gave the older male a curt nod, asking a quick question just after he’s stepped into the doorframe, “Am I going to get any towels or extra clothes or..?”

 

Mark blushed,  _ right _ , he scrambled to find said items. Mark saw that for a split second, Jackson looked bemused, a thick eyebrow arched in amusement. Mark’s flush deepened to a darker shade of rouge. Jackson uttered a soft “thank you” before entering the bathroom. 

 

The American male counted the seconds before the water turned on. One hundred seventy seconds, just a bit under three minutes, though he was certain he had lost count and began to count from a random number. Mark gave up and made his way to his room, feeling the coldness that seemed to perpetually surround him. It followed him like obnoxious mosquitos during the summertime. 

 

It certainly didn’t help that wind was seeping into the room from an iota crack that was barely visible to the naked eye, yet made all the difference for deterring the cold winter air. The crack led the wind directly to his bed, making the messy bed sheets unbearably cold. Mark closed the blinds, and despite the small change in temperature, he felt all the more glad to sit on his bed.

 

The American male sent a text to the group chat between him, Jinyoung, and Jaebum, which he believed was created for the sole reason of attempting to “save” Jackson.

 

**yo, just to let you two know, jackson’s in my house right now.**

 

**Jinyoung: Should we stop by to pick him up, or..?**

 

**no, it’s fine. i got this. feel free to come over if you’d like, though.**

 

Mark sent his address and shut his phone off just to catch his knee bobbing wildly next to him. He didn’t know why he was so restless. He listened to the water battering at his shower floor, which was only muffled by a thin wall.

 

“Sorry, my apartments an actual dumpster fire,” Mark said in a blasé tone. He added a quick, “today,” in for good measure, in case they were to condemn him just because of his apartment’s cleanliness.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Jinyoung said with poorly masked distaste, Jaebum trailing cautiously on his tail.

 

“He’s in the shower— Actually, he’s been in there for quite a while. Here, let me go check on him,” Mark got up to knock on the bathroom door. His fingers rapped on the door carefully, just enough to be heard over the running water.

 

A soft yelp was heard along with feet rubbing harshly on the shower floor. A hiss of pain, then a short silence before Jackson emerged from the bathroom. 

 

“Hey, sorry about that,” Jackson had emerged with skin that appeared to steam against Mark’s cold skin. He rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly. 

 

Mark lifted an eyebrow, his eyes scanning Jackson carefully. He forced himself to look past the younger man’s hollowed-out cheeks that could only be because of Jackson’s less than healthy diet. He instead decided to comment on Jackson’s hot skin, “Jesus, are you trying to burn?”

 

A minute silence washed over them momentarily. Rather than answering, Jackson made a lackadaisical equivocal comment, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

 

Mark shrugged, “Alright. Jinyoung and Jaebum are here, by the way.”

 

Jackson nodded stiffly, “Lead the say.”

 

Jaebum stood up the moment Jackson appeared in his peripheral vision. His jaw was clenched with frustration, his cheeks flushed with frustration, “What the fuck!?” his outburst gave an immediately stark difference between him and Jinyoung. Jaebum’s explosive personality was a pole away from Jinyoung’s calm yet stern personality, and like magnets, they matched each other well. Especially with Jinyoung’s silent method of subduing the slightly older male, “You can’t— Please don’t run off like that.”

 

“I wasn’t going to ‘kill myself’, Jaebum,” The Hong Kong native said, his tone mimicking Jaebum’s usual blasé cadence. He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face and through his wet hair, “I just needed some fresh air.”

 

“Please, enlighten me on why you went outside,” he pulled up his weather app, “In this nice forty-one degree weather with nothing more than your pyjamas.”

 

“Stop patronizing me,” Jackson’s voice was thick with annoyance, “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know why. I don’t fucking know.”

 

Jinyoung’s hand made its way to Jaebum’s shoulder. His red fingertips turned white, squeezing lightly at Jaebum’s shoulder. His bonafide actions seemed to match Jaebum’s brash personality. Jinyoung’s smooth voice intertwined with Jaebum’s sharp tone. They mixed, and like a fire licking up a wall, Jinyoung’s voice came out on top, “Sorry, Jackson. We just wanted to make sure you were safe; we were worried about you.”

 

As a reply, Jackson shrugged as Jinyoung pushed a very tired Jaebum out the door. Jinyoung spoke again, his hand over Jaebum’s, “Do you want to come back with us?” He asked, his voice soft with concern. Jackson shook his head without an ounce of hesitation. The couple looked to each other and got up without exchanging any words.

 

There was a fetid silene. At it, Mark opened his mouth to speak. At the sight of Jackson's face, Mark closed his mouth, “Let’s just stop talking about this?”

 

Jackson smiled emptily, “Thanks, Mark.”

 

Jackson looked around at Mark’s living room just before the older male stepped into the bathroom. It made Mark’s breathing hitch at the thought of what Jackson likely thought of him and his apartment. He shuddered, reminding himself to focus on Jackson, not himself.

 

Mark hopped out of the shower after it quickly became cold. He rubbed away as much of the rest of the suds as possible with a towel and groaned, quickly changing into his college sweatpant and sweater set. 

 

As Mark creeped into his living room, he saw Jackson look blankly at his phone. The screen lit up Jackson’s face, making his dull eyes seem duller than they should’ve been. His irises appeared to shake back and forth in his sclera, as if he were rereading something just because he couldn’t believe it. There was a tremor in his hand, and despite his blank expression, he was obviously distraught.

 

But Mark didn’t press it, and made his way over to the guest room. He fished out his keys and opened the door, moving some of his extra boxes that contained the things he was too lazy to unpack when he had first moved in. 

 

And he just forced himself to forget about the nagging sense of concern at the base of his skull.

  
  


~~

  
  


Winter breezed in slowly. It was cold enough to make Mark shiver, but it still hadn’t dropped too much since Mark saw Jackson last. But unlike their autumn, they still kept in contact. While their conversations were often mundane, Mark held them close to his chest. 

 

Jackson texted Mark, asking Mark to meet him at his house. 

 

Mark appeared at Jackson’s apartment, hesitating just in front of the Hong Kong native’s apartment. His hand hovered by the door. with a sudden deluge of confidence washing over him, he rapped his knuckles against the door.

 

“Hello..?” an unfamiliar young man opened the door, his delicate features showing surprise, “Who… are you?”

 

The young man appeared to exude confidence, as if it seeped out his skin like a skunk’s spray seeps into skin. His legs seemed to stretch into infinity. 

 

Mark snapped from his reverie when he remembered he had yet to answer the man’s question, “I’m Mark.”

 

“Oh, I’ve heard your name being thrown around by the old folks living here,” The long legged boy, moved out the way and allowed Mark to enter.

 

Mark felt far too small in the apartment. It was far from small, it seemed to stretch on forever. Like he was stranded in the middle of an ocean, where the water stretched on to the horizon. It was surprisingly well-furnished, especially for a group of several young adults.

 

“Oh Mark, I see you’ve met our resident drama queen,” Jackson’s surprisingly soft voice was jarring, making Mark almost launch back out the door from where he entered. He continued on, his voice still holding an unfamiliar quality, “He’s Bambam, don’t ask about his real name. And the kid sitting on the couch is Yugyeom, but he doesn’t live here.”

 

Mark lifted an eyebrow, craning his neck to see that there was indeed another male splayed out on the couch, his gangly limbs hanging off the sofa as if he owned the place.

 

“Let’s go?” Mark asked, his tone inviting.

 

Jackson let out a short, yet genuine laugh, “Allons-y!”

  
  
  


Jackson was smiling at Mark just as they stepped out the airport. The small flecks of snow drifting slowly to the ground fluttered like cherry blossoms around spring. It was oddly angelic, especially with the puffy parka wrapped around his body. His face, despite the raised corners of his lips, seemed very bewildered.

 

“You don’t usually get too much snow, right?” Mark asked, his voice drowning in the midst of the people walking around.

 

“Yeah, it’s usually pretty hot in Hong Kong,” Jackson had either miraculously heard Mark, or the latter’s ears still hadn’t unclogged as of yet and he physically couldn’t hear himself.

 

Mark chuckled softly, “Yeah, I feel you.”

 

They walked in silence to a bus station. The cold breeze felt like small insect stings; it stung. They slowly made their way to a small hotel just outside of the capital. 

 

“Remind me why we’re staying in Beijing?” Jackson asked once they’d gotten settled.

 

Mark clicked his tongue, “So d-don’t blame me on anything, but the ride I booked from Beijing to Hong Kong isn’t until the... day after tomorrow, so we have to stay here for a bit.”

 

Jackson shrugged, “Y’know, I’d thought you’d be a bit more responsible than that.”

 

“Jack, when we were kids, I never learned how to properly interact with people. Plus, I broke your hearing aids, even knowing they were probably very expensive,” Mark muttered, embarrassed at his past decisions.

 

Jackson leans back, his voice straining slightly as he rested his head on his arms, “It’s whatever. We were young, y’know?”

  
  
  


They made their way to Hong Kong after a day of doing nothing in the city. Jackson’s family lived in an apartment that seemed to be in the center of Hong Kong. A bustling crowd of people hopped out of an elevator. The pair share a look of confusion before heading up to Jackson’s family’s apartment.

 

It was surprisingly average. The living room seemed to be a testament to it, its white walls, plain leather furniture with three cushions haphazardly placed on the couch, and hardwood floors. The entire place felt homely, especially with a warmly colored light in the corner of the house and a smell Mark felt was all too nostalgic, like his mother’s cooking. 

 

A man looked up at them and his face lit up. And amazingly quickly, they launched into a tight embrace. They were suddenly speaking rapid-fire Cantonese. Mark carried on with the assumption that they were talking about how much they’d missed each other, and put down their suitcases. The other two men immediately snapped their heads to face Mark.

 

“... Hi?” Mark said with uncertainty, the single greeting feeling incredibly heavy on his tongue.

 

Jackson laughed, a jovial sound filling the air. It’s nearly jarring for Mark. Jackson prods at Mark after walking over to the latter, “Introduce yourself,” he whispered into Mark’s ear.

 

“Right, I’m Mark Tuan,” even while speaking English, Mark still didn’t know what to say. He extended his hand and shook the older man’s hand.

 

They stood in an awkward triangle in the middle of the room. Mark watched as Jackson and his dad whisper something into each other’s ears. Mark felt his face flush, knowing full well that the tips of his ears were a bright pink. He heard his name being thrown around, but didn’t think much of it. He looked down at his socks, one was grey while the other was black. He told himself he’d just gotten dressed in the dark.

 

He recognized poorly disguised motions to him and a sudden shift to Mandarin Chinese and the occasional English phrase. It stood out like a sore thumb between the long passages of solely Cantonese. 

 

Mark’s own parents spoke mostly Mandarin Chinese at home, albeit with many English words tossed in to form a conglomerate of nearly untranslatable words and phrases. He was only able to catch up with his parents’ fast-paced colloquialisms after spending most of his life with them; he couldn’t imagine the difficulty of attempting to understand two completely different dialects of the same language while translating it to another separate Latin-based language. It gave him vertigo just thinking of doing so.

  
  


They eventually settled into a sofa, the television playing the weather channel serving as noise to mask the droning of a painfully loud fan whenever there was a lull in the conversation. 

 

Jackson’s father was silently glancing over at the clock on the wall, intermittently cast his gaze over to Mark with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. He asked, “Who are you to my son?” suddenly, as if he weren’t silently casting judgement on the American male.

 

Mark hesitated, his head cocking to the side before straightening again, “I’m a f-friend… We’ve technically known each other since, like, elementary school,” he forced himself to shake off the buzzing feeling of guilt.

  
  
  


_ A short boy, probably a bit shorter than Mark himself stood at the front of the classroom, his head held up high with a brilliant smile on his face. Mark feared the boy’s head would be split in half like a melon after a knife cuts through its rind.  _

 

_ Despite this apparent confidence, the boy held onto a notebook like his life depended on it. His smile looked practiced, far too fake for someone whose age hadn’t even reached double digits yet. He leaned back slightly, just barely grazing the dusty chalkboard. _

 

_ The tall teacher introduced him, prodding at the boy—whose name was Jackson— to open the notebook.  _

 

‘Nice to meet you!’  _ A smiley face was drawn next to the messily written sentence,  _ ‘I am deaf.’

 

_ There was a multitude of different reactions. Many were confused, as if the boy had written a ciphered message in a different language. Some who had someone close to them that was deaf understood, and let out a sound of pity. All the while other people didn’t care.  _

 

_ Mark fit into the last group. He didn’t care about what the new kid had to say, or couldn’t say in this case. He looked around at his classmates, who were all different levels of intrigued.  _

 

_ The by continued on, flipping to another page before showing the class. Jackson wasn’t born deaf, but he lost his hearing from a supposed sickness. Mark didn’t know, he had spaced out midway through reading the boy’s only semi-legible handwriting. _

 

_ Their class was a surprisingly close-knit group of typically vexatious school kids. So the introduction of an outsider somewhat miffed them. And despite it, many of his classmates attempted to help the boy take notes. Seeing Jackson’s wide, owlish eyes as he stared up at the blackboard. _

 

_ The girl helping keep track of the teacher’s lesson for Jackson was complaining. Even though there wasn’t too much to pay attention to, she still struggled to keep up writing both her own and Jackson’s notes without falling behind. _

 

_ Mark didn’t know what sparked it, but he tripped Jackson. And he taunted the boy, remarking how he had known that Jackson was dead, but he didn’t know the boy was also blind. _

 

_ He got a few laughs, so he continued. _

  
  
  


Mark shook his head at the memory. 

 

“Did you know about Jackson's... struggles with fitting into a classroom setting?”

 

“Dad, why are you interrogating him?” Jackson whined.

 

“I’m just checking something.”

 

Mark flushed, suddenly very uneasy. He straightened his back.

 

“And what exactly would that be?” Jackson lifted an eyebrow, his voice holding a faux-angered tone.

 

The older man answered in Cantonese, though Mark hadn’t needed to use too much of his brain to guess what he’d said. Jackson's reddened cheeks and agape mouth said everything. He totally thought they were a thing. Mark ignored the heat flowing to his cheeks.

 

As much as Mark didn’t know, or at least chose not to know, about his feelings, he definitely liked Jackson more than just as a friend. If the dream he had during his coma in the summer hadn’t proven it yet. At the thought of the dream he had, he reminded himself to ask Jackson about it. It felt odd, like it was too vivid, like it actually could’ve happened. 

  
  


Their conversation returned to a much more normal topic after it, despite the tension still looming in the air. 

 

Jackson’s dad stood up suddenly, announcing that they go down to his car. Mark could sense that something was going awry. Jackson’s smile had once more faded to a grimace. When they pulled up to a hospital, it confirmed Mark’s concerns.

 

The older man just uttered an all too short, “Sorry for dragging you here. Family issues.”

 

They had to lie to receptionist, claiming Mark was some distant cousin there to visit his sick aunt. In their hurry, they nearly knocked over a nurse. A sickly woman, who Mark guessed was Jackson’s mother just by how she looked, with ashy grey skin greeted them the moment they entered the room. The beep that sounded too familiar to Mark didn’t end. The lady had probably flatlined just moments earlier. The torn hospital gown and messy sheets confirmed it. They’d attempted to resuscitate the woman, but it proved to be useless.

 

Mark hurriedly shook away the black dots that were beginning to eat at his peripheral vision and the black hole of a pit in his stomach, and shot his panicked eyes over to Jackson. The Hong Kong native was uncomfortably stiff, his eyes glazed yet not spilling over. It definitely wasn’t healthy.

 

Mark watched as Jackson bolted out of the hospital room.  _ So much for a peaceful vacation. _

  
  


The American male cursed as he attempted to get a hold of Jaebum and Jinyoung, but with the shitty data he had, he couldn’t do anything. He had to run around a country he’d never been to and try to find Jackson, who was several times more athletic than he ever could’ve been.

 

He had to quickly hop into a McDonalds, check on his phone’s map app, and ran to the nearest bridge.

  
  


He never thought two occurrences so similar would happen so close to each other, but there he was, on a bridge at least forty feet over the water. And Jackson was standing too close to the edge. Mark approached the male, leaning carefully on the handrail of the bridge.

 

The younger man made no effort to acknowledge Mark, but he still sat down. 

 

They sat in silence, enjoying the brief moment of peace between the chaos happening around them. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Jackson apologized, the rims of his eyes reddened from unshed tears, “I guess I totally ruined this vacation after all?”

 

Mark pursed his lips, slowly inching closer to Jackson, “It’s fine, I… You just—“ Mark cut himself off before he continued to flounder embarrassingly. He continued, “I just wanted you to be happy, y’know?”

 

Jackson seemed to shrink into himself. And with the puffy parka on, he appeared to be no more than just a small, self-conscious child, “I guess I ruined that too.”

 

Mark’s eyes widened, “No, no! Jackson. I-I didn’t mean it like that. I like being with you, and seeing you happy would’ve been a bonus.”

 

Jackson’s mouth formed an “O” shape and he let the corners of his lips point upward, “Thanks.”

 

Mark let himself smile, pushing his nausea down along with the sight of a dead woman. He closed his eyes, to ease his growing headache, but the image of the woman seemed to burn itself into his eyelids. Then his younger brother’s face burned into his mind. He cursed and opened his eyes, and all he could hear was something akin to the waves under him. 

 

He was drowning.

 

Like he were tied to the sea floor, he couldn’t escape. Everything seemed dark, almost enough to make him feel like a blind man. 

 

“Holy shit!” A voice that seemed both too loud and too quiet broke through the waves. Mark winced at the sudden change in volume. The sound of his body hitting the floor registered before he even felt it. He forced his arms and legs to move, though it looked more like a seizure than anything because of how tremulous they were. The voice started speaking again, “Breathe, Mark,” and the said male obliged, or at least as best he could. 

 

The voice turned to be a person. And the person helped him out of the water, and onto dry land. And he sputtered, attempting to stand on his trembling legs. 

 

Jackson grabbed ahold of Mark after the American slipped back down to the ground, narrowly missing a patch of ice, “What’s wrong?”

 

Mark’s mouth hung agape as he attempted to catch his breath, “There… now I r-ruined our vacation m-m-more.”

 

Jackson’s expression hardened, “Did you… do that on purpose?”

 

Mark cursed, his face paling even more than it had just a bit ago as he continued to flounder, “No, of course not! I-I would never do that,” Mark coughed, and stood up carefully. 

 

“Then what was that?”

 

“I-I don’t know,” Mark hesitated, stuck between telling the other male the truth or just straight up lying, “I-I’m not sure. But seeing—I’m sorry, who was that?”

 

Jackson blanched, his mouth hung open like a fish. He cocked his head to the side before straightening his posture out, “That was my mother.”

 

Mark straightened himself up, running his hands over his face, “R-right. Well I guess i-it reminded me of something. Anyway, i-if you don’t mind me asking… was the reason you… ran...” Mark trailed off, but he was certain his words weren’t misconstrued.

 

Jackson hesitated, his face suddenly looking much older and tired that earlier, “Y-yeah, I guess. She was hospitalized. I mean, she always appeared to be pretty sickly, but it was a real fucking shock when I heard it— Sorry, am I rambling? It’s not important.”

 

The American male hesitated, wrapping his arms awkwardly around Jackson. He was fairly certain he leaned too heavily onto the younger male, but he was too exhausted to notice, “It’s clearly important. P-please don’t push your personal things away from you,” Jackson was shivering in Mark’s grasp, trails of tears standing out on his face, “But n-never mind that, let’s go inside? Your dad’s probably freaking out right now.”

 

Jackson laughed softly, a low one that seemed controlled yet not completely forced. It made Mark’s already fast heart rate accelerate.

  
  


They found their way back to the hospital, and they found Jackson’s father sitting in a chair by the end of the bed. The air around them was thick, like a vat of corn syrup. Jackson’s dad led them back to the Wang household after the two returned, sweeping Jackson away before he could even see his mother’s now covered corpse.

 

The oldest man’s gait resembled that of a sloth. He moved lethargically, almost too slowly for Mark to walk by. But Mark didn’t mind, seeing as Jackson’s own pace was just as slow, if not slower. 

 

Mark looked to Jackson, who was close to cracking, and closed his eyes tightly. Mark wanted the small boy that always had a smile on his face no matter what the American male did to him. He knew it was impossible; he knew life didn’t work like that, but he wished he did. He wished he had treated Jackson better because the guilt that was gnawing at his insides had returned stronger than ever.

 

Mark watched was Jackson walked in quietly, gesturing to a small room just across what seemed to be his own room. Jackson seemed to shatter just before he entered his room, yet he attempted to hold himself together. And Mark was determined to put Jackson back together again.

  
  


~~

  
  


They couldn’t stay in Hong Kong for too long, even though it seemed both Jackson and his dad needed their father-son relationship to cope with their loss. Mark knew Jackson well enough to understand how the younger male would cope, and he certainly believed the older Hong Kong native would do the same. 

 

Mark felt painfully intrusive on the two other men, who seemed to speak solely Cantonese to each other. It at least made him feel slightly better, but the wary stares he received weighed down on him as if he was benching a weight that was far too heavy without a spotter. 

 

Mark settled into a schedule: he woke up, he ;aid in bed until he heard socked feet lightly tread across the hardwood floors, he ate breakfast with the Wangs, he went back into his room only to hear poorly stifled crying, he ate lunch alone, he counted the seconds until they ate dinner together, and he laid in his bed until his phone ran out of power. 

 

He never slept too much while in the Wang household, late night conversations muffled only by a wall kept him up. He couldn’t make out any discernible noises, just the bassy cadence of their voices that seemed to drone on as their conversation continued.

 

Their dinners were also grossly awkward. Mark was given the side-eye so often that he was almost amazed that the oldest of the three’s eyes weren’t stuck that way. 

 

One day, as Mark waited for the day to end, Jackson walked into his room. He looked like a mess, but Mark didn’t mind. He was sure he didn’t look any better. Jackson hesitated, biting at his light pink lips. He turned his head slightly, as if he were about to bolt back out. He took a deep breath and started speaking.

 

“I don’t think I can handle this anymore,” Jackson spoke so softly, Mark was surprised to even understand it. He was stuck at a fork in the road. He both wished he didn’t hear it, and also wanted to help Jackson at the same time. Jackson started speaking again, an addendum to his initial thought, “But I think I can manage it if you’re here with me.”

 

Mark hadn’t actually responded, he offered his best smile and mumbled something so incoherently that he didn’t even understand what he was trying to say.

 

~~

 

When they finally landed back in the Americas, Jackson asked Mark a very jarring question: “Can I stay over at your place?” The older male opened his mouth to ask a small question, but Jackson beat him to it, “Jinyoung and Jaebum are such… helicopter parents, if that’s even the correct phrase.”

 

Mark nodded, leading Jackson into his stupidly small apartment. He was immediately blasted with cold and dry air the moment he opened his door. He cursed internally, but dragged his suitcase in with Jackson just on his tail. 

 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Mark muttered, picking up a thin blanket that was strewn haphazardly on the floor in front of his couch. 

 

Jackson let out a small laugh, “I’ve been here more than once.”

 

“I know, but it’s the first time you’ve been here on your own volition.”

 

Jackson just shrugged, and hesitated. He looked around, “Where should I put my things?”

 

Mark sucked in a harsh breath, “Right. I haven’t cleaned this room since you were here last, which was a good two months,” he couldn’t help but to laugh at himself. He unlocked the door, and opened the door for Jackson.

Again, Jackson shrugged and dragged his suitcase into the room wordlessly. Mark lifted an eyebrow in confusion, but brought his own suitcase to his room, and forced himself to ignore it.

  
  
  


Mark had gotten a text from Jaebum days after Jackson decided to move into his home.

 

**Jaebum: Do you happen to know where Jackson is?**

 

The American male was just about to equivocate on the topic until Jaebum gave up, but he wasn’t sure if Jackson would’ve wanted Mark to tell his now former roommates. He didn’t want to ask the man, seeing the brown wooden door closed in his face.

 

He knocked on the door, getting nothing but a short mumble. Mark sucked in a breath, and walked in, hoping the noise was a sound of allowance.

 

“Hey, Jack,” Mark looked back at his phone, to make sure he was reading it correctly, “Jaebum’s asking where you are. Do you want me to tell him?”

 

Jackson’s head snapped up at breakneck speed. Mark could almost hear the younger man's jaw tighten as he debated between two words. Mark almost wanted to step in before the man got an aneurysm. He stopped himself when he saw Jackson’s mouth open. Then close. Then open again, “Sure.”

 

Mark floundered at the blasé answer, but decided to nod and offered a quick, “Alright.”

 

**he’s staying at my place.**

 

**Jaebum: Shit**

 

**Jaebum: You want me to take him off your hands?**

 

**no, it’s fine.**

 

**i totally got this.**

 

Mark totally didn’t know what he was doing, but it seemed to quell Jaebum’s worry seeing as he didn’t get another notification. Jackson was still staring at him from the bed, an eyebrow lifted. Mark flushed, shoving his phone into his pocket. 

 

“You’re going back to school soon, right?” Mark asked carefully, still somewhat flustered. Jackson nodded wordlessly, shutting his own phone off, “Let’s go out?”

 

Jackson’s cheeks were rosy, but he remained impressively impassive, “Where and when.”

 

“Now. And w-we can just…” Mark was attempting to think of a place, but he was just grasping straws, “Walk a-around, or something.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Why now,” Jackson said after a beat of hesitation. To it, Mark nodded and feigned a smile. He made his way to his own room and waited.

 

Despite what was at most five minutes, Mark felt the seconds stretch to hours. A short knock later, and the two were outside. The two were so close, Mark felt his hand repeatedly graze Jackson’s. 

 

They made their way back to the bridge under the trees’ shadow. Mark swept the snow that dotted the ground into the water. He sat on the ground just by the bridge’s railing, and patted the space next to him. 

 

A silence spread like peanut butter on bread. Mark felt like he was treading on eggshells, but he broke the pregnant silence, “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Jackson was understandably confused, his countenance holding a bewildered expression, “What..?”

 

Regret immediately flooded Mark, and he attempted to remedy it, “I-I mean… in Hong Kong. I’m here for you?” Mark cursed at himself for stuttering through his attempt to be inspirational.

 

Jackson shook his head, “I-I’ve been getting better.”

 

“Then why haven’t you moved back with your better friends?” Mark blurted. He blinked. Twice. And he wanted to take it back, “I-I mean—”

 

“What could you possibly mean?” Jackson cut Mark off, his voice’s usually soft yet firm cadence holding a sudden bite. Mark felt the poison seep into veins, and he froze.

 

“N-no!” Mark stopped to think, “I want you here. It’s great having you here, but you deserve better than my shitty apartment.”

 

Jackson nodded, carefully observing Mark’s features as the latter kept his eyes trained on his lap, “I like it there. It’s so much less oppressing, if that’s even the proper word, that it is with everyone else.”

 

“Wh-what?” Mark asked incredibly eloquently. 

 

“I don’t know. It’s just, Jaebum and Jinyoung, even though they mean well, I feel like they’re babying me. At least you treat me like a peer and not some indolent, whiny child.”

 

“I don’t understand why I should. You’re not even a full year younger than me.”

 

Jackson nodded, “I know, but Jaebum and Jinyoung don’t seem to think so,” he paused, feigning the act of thinking, before speaking again, “Plus, Jinyoung’s even younger than I am.”

 

Mark snorted, as if he’d failed to hold back laughter, and said, “That’s fucking stupid, isn’t it? My sister did that all the time.”

 

“I feel you, man,” Jackson bursted out laughing, almost jarringly genuinely, “Shit, I feel like one of those college druggies.”

 

“Great idea! Let’s go somewhere to drink.”

 

Jackson shrugged, “Neither of us are technically old enough to drink.”

 

“Trust me, I know a place,” Mark said, recalling a spot some of his high school friends had found.

 

~~

 

“Holy shit, are you trying to kill me?” Jackson asked as they slipped into a hole-in-the-wall bar. He eyed the place suspiciously, very obviously concerned about the less than sanitary condition of any of the tables that were only accented by the dim, nearly sickly, lighting. 

 

Mark shook his head, “‘Course not. I’m try’na keep you alive, remember?” Mark said nonchalantly just as the bartender approached them. He quietly muttered something to the male before turning his attention back to Jackson, “I hope ya don’t mind drinking some cheap beer.”

 

Jackson shrugged, speaking again only when their alcohol arrived, “Did we come here just to ask for a, sorry, two six-packs of what…  _ Narragansett Lager _ ?” 

 

Mark clicked his tongue, sucking in a quick breath, as he whipped out his wallet, “No..?”

  
  


They made their way back to what they’d begun to deem as  _ their _ bridge, not because they physically owned it, but for simplicity’s sake. Especially with the knowledge of the other bridge both had threatened to throw themselves off of. They settled in their previous position, much of the thin layer of snow having melted as the day continued on.

 

It reminded them of the poignant thought that no matter what happened to them, time still passed. And it passed heartlessly quickly. At that thought, Mark opened the first can. And handed it to Jackson before opening one for himself. 

 

“Seriously, that place was sketchy as all hell,” Jackson muttered to himself.

 

Mark shrugged half-heartedly, “Raise a glass,” Mark said as he lifted his can into the air. It dented in his hand, threatening to spill over. Jackson followed suit.

 

As they finished downing the drinks at an incredibly fast pace, Mark’s eyes met Jackson’s own. 

  
  


They’d downed the entire pack unhealthily quickly. Even so, Mark only felt the familiar buzz traveling up and down his body, if not slightly drunker than he’d have admitted. Despite still toeing the line between being sober and drunk, Jackson seemed to take a headfirst dive into his tipsiness. 

 

Jackson’s arms latched around Mark’s thin frame, “Thanks for today,” he slurred, leaning heavily on Mark, “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

 

Mark heard his voice before he even processed that he was speaking, “How so?”

 

“I’d prolly have killed myself,” Jackson slurred unintelligibly into Mark’s neck. 

 

Even in his half-drunken stupor, Mark stopped dead in his tracks. He knew about Jackson’s depression for months, yet to hear the words directly from Jackson’s mouth was still incredibly jarring. He had to bite his tongue to stifle the noise at the back of his throat, and he squeezed Jackson’s shoulder as if the younger would fly away had he not’ve.

 

The two sat in the position for what seemed like hours, but was at most ten minutes. 

 

Jackson broke the silence, his cheeks still flushed. Jackson looked directly into Mark’s eyes, “I— Look, I have nothing to lose—”

 

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Mark bit the inside of his cheeks, “Plus we’re still at least a little tipsy.”

 

“No, Mark. If I don’t say anything, I’ll never get it out of me,” the alcohol made Jackson surprisingly maudlin, especially after he recalled the last time the younger male had gotten drunk. Then, like someone ripping off a bandaid as swiftly as they could, he blurted out his words, “I really fucking like you.”

 

Before Mark even processed the weight of the words, Jackson’s lips were on his. They surprisingly warm, especially with the harsh winds hitting their faces. Jackson’s lips were amazingly smooth and carried the familiar tinge the alcohol contained. Mark felt himself drift off, his body feeling lighter than a feather. They were in space, and Mark suddenly couldn’t breathe, and yet, he didn’t pull away. The wisps of his anxiety rushed out the deeper he leant into Jackson’s lips. Jackson’s tongue brushed up against Mark’s lips and easily made its way in. 

 

Jackson’s lips left Mark’s like a butterfly taking off from a flower from which it sucked the nectar dry. Mark put his fingers to his now no longer chapped lips in shock, and stared directly into Jackson’s eyes. They were benign and speckled with a hope that hadn’t appeared to be present before. 

 

“J-Jack,” Mark managed to stutter out breathily, his hot breath forming wisps in the cold air like a volcano sluggishly emitting uneven puffs of smoke. His breathing hitched. Mark was crying, sobbing like a little child.

 

Jackson immediately closed the gap between them again, and they were sitting less than a foot away from each other, “Wh-what’s wrong?”

 

Mark rubbed at his eyes, his hands and the sleeves of his sweater, which was poking out from his coat, acting as a temporary dam for the tears. A gutteral noise escaped from the back of Mark’s throat. It was followed by helpless sobs, each louder than the last. 

 

Jackson, whose face was still red, was panicked. The cries of sorrow seemed to jolt him back into reality. He gnawed at his bottom lip, his arms situating back around Mark. His eyes shown with a determination that even through his blurry vision, Mark could see it. Jackson stopped moving so suddenly, Mark was scared the other male had passed out. 

 

“Here, you can hear me, right?” It sounded as if Jackson’s voice was muffled by water, but Mark nodded. Jackson nodded against Mark, “Good, I’m going to take these out, and if you wanna vent, go ahead. I won’t tell anyone.”

 

Momentarily, Mark was confused enough for him to stop crying. He wiped his face with his sleeve and realized what Jackson meant. And when he looked over, the familiar nude-colored gadgets were nowhere to be found. He backed away from the Hong Kong native, and they sat across from each other. Jackson looked to him expectantly.

 

“A-alright,” Mark began softly. He met Jackson’s eyes again, and hesitated again, “Everything I-I do… is for you to be happy.”

 

Jackson’s hands started moving, so quickly that Mark had missed a good chunk of it. Jackson repeated it again, and Mark recognized it as him saying, ‘Let it all out. I don’t care how loud you yell, I can’t hear you, and no one wants to be out here as of now.’

 

Mark squared his shoulders. Despite that, his hands were still pressing harshly into his legs, “I don’t know,” Mark stared lasers into his legs, “I love you! I love you so fucking much! If you died, I wouldn’t know what to do to myself. I’d probably be dead, right alongside you.”

 

Jackson noticed Mark trailing off, and scooted closer to the male, swaying subtly. He placed his hands on Mark’s own. Mark moved towards Jackson as well, and his heartbeat stuttered. He felt guilt hit him like a freight train. Mark shook Jackson’s hands off of his own, he ignored the look of confusion, and kept his eyes trained on Mark. 

 

‘Let’s go back home,’ Mark signed, trying desperately to forget about his breakdown. He hoped Jackson would never bring it up again. He looked at Jackson, his eyes idling just beneath Jackson’s face. A gentle hand held his chin, lifting it to meet Jackson’s eyes. 

 

“You good?” Jackson asked, his hearing aids back in its normal place.

 

Mark nodded out of Jackson’s gentle grasp on his chin, and grabbed onto the hand that had just left his chin. He pasted a smile on his face, “I’m seriously fine. I’m more concerned about you.”

 

“Why..?” Jackson sounded incredulous. Mark wouldn’t blame the man, he  _ was _ still buzzed, after all. And Mark was almost certain he didn’t make too much sense.

 

“We just downed, like, maybe five-and-a-half cans of beer,” Mark grabbed at the now empty plastic holster he shoved the cans back in their spots as neatly as he could attempt. He managed to pick it up off the ground, and clumsily shoved it into the nearest garbage bin, “Anyway, yeah, let’s start moving?”

 

“Y-yeah, let’s,” Jackson said, his hand snaking its way to Mark’s. And they walked back to Mark’s apartment in silence.

  
  


~~

  
  


Jackson had officially moved into Mark’s apartment after the ordeal, just as school was starting back up. It was a welcome addition to otherwise acerbically mundane days that droned on like cicadas during the summer time. 

 

It especially helped Mark’s conscience when he saw the hollowed-out cheeks become more plump and the eyebags had faded to a lighter purple, only leaving behind a bit of periorbital edema. 

 

Jackson had very impressively recalled all the memories in his hungover state. With just a few hours, Mark had recalled the memories as well. It forced their relationship into a strange grey area where they were definitely more than just friends, but not exactly lovers. They were just close enough to be considered beyond the realm of friendship.

 

Their newfound closeness certainly helped aid in Jackson’s recovery process, a term which they rarely used, even if it were the best term they could come up with, even with their boundaries They weren’t exactly like the ones between friends with benefits, but it sure as hell felt it.

 

They’d taken it upon themselves to share a room. It was initially because of a sudden plunge in the temperature outside that made Mark’s uninhabitable. But after Mark finally cleared the boxes out of the room, did they realize how much space the room actually had, especially after they juxtaposed images they  had taken of the two rooms. 

 

They opted to moving Mark’s bed into the guest room, and quickly abandoned the twin-sized bed that Jackson had been sleeping on in favor of the bed they had deconstructed and reconstructed into that room. 

 

It was all so domestic, like they were part of a painfully mundane slice of life novel. And the feeling grew like a balloon. 

 

They kept the pivotal question of  _ what _ they were to themselves until it popped like a bubble. It wasn’t too long after Jackson returned to school, on a particularly dark day, an uninteresting Sunday. 

 

“What are we?” Jackson asked against Mark’s neck. His thin layer of stubble, which had begun to resemble more of a thin mustache and beard after getting complimented by Mark and partly by his teasing friends, had prickled at Mark’s bare skin around his collarbone.

 

“What..?” Mark’s response was indolent, having spent most of his day lounging around in the bed they laid on. He unlatched Jackson’s arms, which were wrapped tightly around his waist, and sat up. Jackson followed suit, sitting across from each other just as they’d done in their drunken state.

 

“Wh-what are we?” Jackson ran a hand through his hair, an idiosyncrasy Mark had noticed just weeks after Jackson and Mark’s living arrangements were made, and only found the man to grow more attractive because of it.

 

“I don’t know,” Mark shifted back, his derriére hovering dangerously close to the edge of the bed. He looked anywhere but at Jackson, “But, hey,  it’s less scary that way, right?”

 

Jackson rubbed at his eyes to erase the remnants of sleep from them, “I guess, but… I— never mind. J-just ignore what I said.”

 

It seemed to sober Mark up from the effects of sleep. He sat up and stared over to Jackson, “Hey, hey. What do  _ you  _ want us,” he gestured between the two of them, “It’s a two player game, after all.”

 

“I don’t know… I just really l-like you,” Jackson looked directly at Mark. 

 

“Then we’re boyfriends?” Mark responded after a moment’s contemplation. 

 

Jackson laughed. The shrill yet soft laugh drifted around the room to fill the air with the dulcet of his laugh. He smiled, widely and genuinely. And with a blossom of red growing on his soft cheeks, “Yeah, I guess we are— Well, if you want to.”

 

“Yeah,” Mark breathed out. He spoke again, his voice lower than a whisper, “I’d love that.”

 

The hope—that seemed like growing embers in a kindling— had begun to expand into a feeling that never seemed to dwindle. And as if suddenly doused in kerosene, the flame grew into something more akin to a wildfire or a bonfire that had gone out of control. It was scary, yet it was so warm that even with the voices in the back of his head resembling embers burning his skin, he didn’t want to leave.

 

And from the midst of the flames, a salient fact jumped out; they were happy. And most importantly of all, Jackson was happy. 

 

And that’s all Mark asked for, at least before the flames would’ve inevitably die out.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
